walks among the people, the tables, who play the violin, the dogs on a leash, prostitutes, pimps with a sense of complete lack of balance. I stand 'cause the people around me will not let me fall. I sit in the more 'Real big terrace of the square. The waiter approaches without smiling. The shot of a beautiful smile drunk and ordered a tequila. The waiter goes away 'in his sad silence. Back to Tequila, lemon and salt. Lay everything on the table and wait for the pay. But I drink tequila in one gulp and ordered another one. As soon as he walks away, I get up, take it and I'm leaving. I never put up with dumb waiters, sad, nasty, rude.
I find more and more 'hard to maintain balance. I do not remember 'cause I'm in Barcelona. Do not even remember 'cause I drank so much. Back on Las Ramblas and restart the pilgrimage of the bar. Pero 'now look more' people and drink less. I try to tire me as much 'as possible to go to bed quietly without the risk of not sleeping and start thinking in solitude. In
Placa de Catalunya there 'a room with a multitude of Harley Davidson parked in front. Are in order, one after another and the first pulse and 'to give a kick to the first and drop them all. But then known this chopper with long keys nell'accensione. Sigh looking around, I get on the bike course, I turn on the grafting, the MRP and childbirth without looking back.
makes a deafening roar as it runs down Las Ramblas towards the port. People have time to look at me, or rather to look at the bike: black, chrome, beautiful.
I head out to sea and I leave the city 'in the back. Travel for an hour at low speed 'in a deserted area and carried to the beach to stop a few meters from the sea. When I turn off the bike becomes palpable silence, broken only by the slow lapping of the waves.
I turn off the lighthouse and the darkness becomes total for a few seconds, the time 'cause my eyes get used to the new situation. I open one of the small pockets of black leather with fringe and I find a small bottle of Jack Daniel's. I take off my boots, socks and booms I dip my feet in the water, sipping bourbon a bit 'hot.
The bottle of Jack Daniel's and 'almost finished when I hear a rumble in the distance, a sort of thunder continued.
Soon the roar turns into a swarm of indistinct round headlights. Harley Davidson has ten, but I'm drunk and could be more 'as less. We all go out together, but with the lights on on me. I'm sitting on the sand, the sea behind and in front of Harley Davidson. Downward
three, come closer, I observed a moment, whispering among themselves. Then I take two of weight one for the arms and legs to the other, and throw me into the water. The sea and 'almost warm. I drink a hearty drink, cough: I do not know whether to stay soaked, relatively safe, or go to the beach where the lights are a disturbing presence. But the problem resolves itself when all the bikes and come on, one by one, they go away leaving the beach in the dark.
'm almost disappointed, all I could think of except they left so ', without reprisal.
back to shore and immediately I enter the cold in the bones. I take off my wet clothes, but naked, is even more 'cool. Bnene squeeze jeans and put them on me, recovery socks, boots, the leather jacket I'm wearing no shirt, and walked towards the main road. I hitchhiked, but at this machine I spend very little and has no intention of stopping.
After an hour's walk to Barcelona I find myself to lift a finger towards a group of Harley Davidson to the beach. Pass in single file, watching carefully, but they stop every hundred yards' ahead. Two were from the group reach me. I do not know if you run or what, but I'm too tired to even think of escape. The long and
chopper 'was mine for a few hours I will stop in front, followed by a green apple Fat Boy. The type of chopper beckons me to climb. I hesitated, but then I go nodding without really knowing why '.
, Let us meet and exceed the other bikes that share right behind us. Type of Fat Boy approaches and hands me a flask of shiny metal. I smile and drink a sip of strong liquor, with a hint of smoke: Mexican Mezcal, the best 'good. Pass the flask to the owner of the chopper. He drinks and then passes it to the guy that has 883 'materialized on my right. He also drinks and passes the whole skin of Heritage, and so 'street in a rite of alcohol suit socialization. We travel in formation as if we were ready for a mission impossible: we are an impressive sight, beautiful.
Barcelona 'Paral Lel asleep when we cross the desert, almost unreal. We stop in Placa de Catalunya, in front of the room where I stole the bike.
go down, I want to give an explanation for my behavior, but the owner of the chopper and smiles at me, nodding towards the Ramblas part followed by the whole group. Roberto Saporito
text taken from: HARLEY DAVIDSON 1998
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